Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  Garrett scooped up Rusby and forced himself into a fast walk, hoping he could grab a quick breakfast before he gathered his sword and the items for his trous pockets. He didn’t look at the temptation of the Healing pool as he went by, much as he’d like to soak a long time and recharge.

  He, Rusby, and Randa stopped off at MidClass Lodge for a waterfall and change—naturally the Fams didn’t stand under the water, but ate. Randa had sniffed around his apartment before curling up on a chair and had looked a lot more like a wild animal than any cats or dogs he’d entertained.

  He knew the public carrier schedules and stepped outside the main door of MidClass Lodge just in time to enter the glider that would pass Apollopa Park. Both Randa and Rusby sat on his lap. The other riders stared at the Fams, particularly the raccoon, and he had a casual conversation.

  When the bus stopped at the plinth near Apollopa Park, Rusby scrambled up to his shoulder and Randa perched on the small shelf of his forearm across his chest as they descended.

  The public carrier trundled on and Garrett stared at the round park, obviously being groomed for Cinchona’s ceremony that evening. Two gardeners worked on the landscape and a lower-level priestess stood in the basin of the fountain, hands raised, cleaning and polishing the mirrors.

  A few people lingered to watch the activity, and there were some across the street, too.

  Too many humans! Randa said telepathically. My mother will be hiding.

  Garrett had figured that. It was a good thing he had Randa with him after all.

  We are coming here for the ritual later? Rusby asked, head cocked as he observed the scene.

  Since he was sure that Artemisia would attend, Garrett would be there, too, however reluctantly. “Yes.”

  Randa scuttled along the curving sidewalk and into the still ragged brush on the far side of the Temple. Though the small round columned building appeared to have had a layer or two of dirt vanquished, the roof still opened to the sky and cracks yet ran through the marble floor. On a closer look, one wall sagged badly. The priest might need an architect to handle the rehab. For some reason, the challenges Cinchona would face made Garrett smile. The man had certainly put him through the wringer the day before.

  Thrashing and snuffling and chirping greetings came. Randa had found her mother. Both raccoons spurted from some low and thorny bushes, leaving a bit of fur on them. The older female continued along the back of the park and across the street that looked to divide an upper-middle-class neighborhood from lower.

  Garrett followed as the raccoons threaded through unkempt grassyards between homes and buildings until they came to a gulch with a trickle of stream running through the area.

  The mother raccoon headed for a tiny cairn of rocks and some dried plants that hadn’t survived the heat of the summer.

  Garrett slid down the gentle meter of bank and went to where the mother raccoon indicated with a long-pawed gesture. She retreated a meter and sat back on her haunches, clasping her forepaws together.

  Randa sniffed at it, then trotted to a large bush, wriggled under it, and curled up. I want to see! Rusby said.

  “You can’t disturb evidence.”

  I want to see this cut in the land.

  Apparently his Fam had never been in a gully. Garrett detached the small kitten from his shoulder and placed him on the ground. With the dried straw-colored plants and light brown dirt and the dark water, his Fam nearly disappeared. “Be careful,” he said.

  Rusby took off running.

  Garrett sighed and squatted down. He unstacked the rocks, brushed the dried plant stuff and dirt aside, saw the slight gleam of carved and polished wood. Pulling a collapsible Flaired-cloth evidence vacuum tube from a belt pocket, he flicked it out and into shape, then pried the knife sheath free from dried mud with a twig.

  “You should give me that.”

  Garrett angled his head and saw the guardswoman Rosa Milkweed standing at the top of the gulch, holding out her hand. She rested the fingertips of her other hand on the hilt of her blazer. She had a pleasant smile on her face, but her eyes appeared a little wild and her outstretched fingers trembled.

  He thought fast, and as he straightened and turned, he used Flair to slip the sheath into the tube and seal it.

  “Don’t!” she said.

  “Too late,” he replied mildly, considering how to play this.

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on Apollopa Park and I saw you and the raccoon—the one who took my knife and the sheath.” She pulled her blazer and pointed it at him.

  * * *

  Artemisia had finished tending to—and enjoyed talking with—her fourth case, but the relief in her chest remained huge. She’d been called back to work a full shift at Primary HealingHall. It seemed as if she could breathe again, as if there was still a good road to the future. She murmured a prayer of thanks to the Lady and Lord.

  She sent a pulse of happiness down her link to Garrett and noticed he’d narrowed their bond to a filament. Puzzling, then the connection throbbed with his emotions . . . threat, danger.

  She stopped in the middle of the corridor, blood draining from her head, heart pounding.

  He was a trained warrior, a private investigator who must sometimes face danger. What should she do? She had the worst feeling that any action must be immediate.

  FamWoman, FamMan is in trouble! The shrill mental voice was Rusby, Garrett’s kitten, sounding terrified.

  FamWoman, SEE! Randa called, and projected an odd vision of Garrett facing a blazer muzzle. The hand that held the weapon wasn’t quite steady. Could the person be distracted?

  “What is going on here?” barked FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather, and Artemisia realized she was leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

  “My HeartMate’s in trouble. I must go.”

  “WHAT!”

  FirstLevel Healer Lark Holly was behind Ura Heather, and Artemisia focused on her compassionate face. “I must leave. Now.”

  “If you leave now, your job is forfeit, and I will ensure you will not work in any other Healing facility in Celta.”

  Artemisia’s stomach coated with acid. “Nothing’s as important as my HeartMate. I’m leaving. ’Porting. Step back,” she said, feeling cold.

  FAMS, HELP ME VISUALIZE, she sent to Randa and Rusby. Triangulating with the Fams, trusting their vision, she teleported.

  And lost her balance on sloped ground and fell near Garrett’s feet. She looked up and saw she’d made herself another target. Damn!

  Rosa Milkweed laughed. “Lady and Lord, a Healer coming to save you.”

  Artemisia rocked to her hands and feet, turned her head to spit up some nauseating bile, then stood. “I’m sorry,” she said to Garrett.

  He nodded. His expression didn’t change, but he sent a wave of love to her through the bond. And determination.

  They were both determined.

  “I know you were the one who killed Modoc,” Garrett said.

  Artemisia shivered. She’d made things a whole lot worse.

  Trust me, said Garrett mentally.

  She looked at his dear profile, started to link fingers, but he moved his.

  No, I need my hands free.

  Self-anger tears welled in Artemisia’s throat. She’d screwed up. She wiped her sleeve across her mouth. Her Healing tunic was dirty and stained, her hair escaping her braid.

  “Not hard to deduce that I executed Eryngo since I’m holding a blazer on you,” Rosa said.

  “You recognized Modoc Eryngo,” Garrett stated.

  Rosa nodded, tapped her temple. “Part of my Flair, personal identification. No matter how the criminal has changed his appearance or aged, I don’t forget a face. One of the reasons I became a guard.” She shook her head and gave a little snort. “His bad luck, really, that I happened t
o be at the old landing field talking to a friend.” Her eyes glittered. “And I got him. Everyone else missed him, but I got him! Proved myself better than you all.”

  “Um-hmm.” Garrett drew out the sound. Then Artemisia heard mentally, Artemisia, Fams, all we need is a distraction.

  Artemisia didn’t see either of their Fams, no other person or animal.

  Rusby and Randa, go together to find some of my ferals.

  Guardswoman Milkweed narrowed her eyes; how much was she sensing? Artemisia shifted her weight, scuffed her feet, and the woman’s glance flickered to her. Let the guard think she was stupid and bumbling. She’d come up with something or help Garrett.

  I must stay with you! Rusby said.

  Go!

  I go! Randa said.

  Then his words really sank in. A distraction! She could shoot you! Artemisia sent back.

  The blazer is not set on kill. I can take a shot and a shock and burn.

  Oh, she didn’t want that! She eyed the blazer, didn’t know enough about them to figure out the settings. Though she did understand that even at the lowest setting, a shot could fry nerves, cripple a person beyond Healing.

  She began to pray silently, and fastened her gaze on the woman, her enemy. Anger filled Artemisia. If she could act, she would.

  And I have a Healer right here, Garrett added.

  She supposed he thought that was amusing. But she caught the trace of his panic before he locked it down. She even smelled it.

  Rosa isn’t as good a guardswoman as I’d thought. She’s talking.

  Artemisia tuned back in.

  Rosa was saying, “Yes, I got him and I executed him and I’m proud of it. I was the guard to close the most abominable open case.”

  Not only had the case affected Milkweed for a long time, but ego had motivated the murder.

  Garrett prompted, “You were at the landing port . . .”

  “Yes, and I recognized Modoc as he got off the airship.”

  “And you followed him . . .”

  “Yes.”

  Gotta keep her talking, Garrett said.

  Artemisia couldn’t think of anything to prompt the woman into more story and less action. The guard had killed before. Would she kill them? How easily did she kill?

  “You acted pretty fast, taking care of Eryngo,” Garrett said.

  “Yes.” Rosa hissed the word, and for the first time, Artemisia studied the woman’s eyes. Unbalanced anger. “I didn’t want to lose him, was due at the guardhouse shortly.”

  “But why did you implicate Artemisia—the cross-folk?” Garrett asked. His voice was smoother than Artemisia had ever heard, calm. Through their bond, she felt he was hyperalert, watching for any opening so he could pounce.

  Rosa shrugged, but her blazer aim didn’t waver much. Not enough that Artemisia could tell.

  “I recalled that the fligger had used the cross-folk for misdirection and thought I might do the same. I knew the Primary HealingHall chapel was open and not many folk visited. I teleported to the HealingHall and got the altar knife, ’ported back to the landing strip, and followed the fligger.”

  “That’s a lot of teleporting,” Artemisia said.

  She received a contemptuous glance of humor from the guardswoman. “I was wired.”

  “Where’d you get the pylor?” Garrett asked.

  Rosa snorted. “The HealingHall, of course. Most Healers can put you to sleep with a touch.” She tilted the blazer toward Artemisia. “But they aren’t the only ones who work in the HealingHalls. The Halls have all sorts of drugs locked up in cases. Including a vial of pylor.”

  “FirstLevel Healer Ura Heather didn’t report the loss of a vial of pylor,” Garrett said.

  “Who’d tell a bitch like her? Not if it was one little tube and easy to replace?”

  “Enough to keep Modoc unconscious,” Artemisia said.

  “That’s right. That’s exactly right,” Rosa said. She bared her teeth and her eyes fired. “Just like he and his filthy Cult did to their victims. He deserved it. He deserved more.” Her ugly expression eased a bit . . . and back into triumph. “But I was there when the prophet said his next life would be miserable. It helps to believe that. Not as good as suffering in this one, but maybe good enough.”

  “You murdered him,” Garrett said.

  “I executed him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You plan on taking me in, don’t you?”

  “You’re a murderer.”

  She made a disgusted noise. “I’m an executioner. Eryngo was an evil, murdering man.” Her lips tightened. “He’d be dead like all the rest by now. I executed justice.” Her chin lifted, but her blazer hand remained steady. “And I’m proud of what I did.”

  “Not proud enough to turn yourself in.”

  “You just want some of my glory.”

  “No. I want to do this through the law, as I’d have wanted Modoc to suffer through the law.” He jutted his chin. “And look what you’re doing now—threatening innocent people.”

  Rosa shook her head. “I’m not going to hurt you, or Artemisia, either.”

  “You’re pointing a blazer at us.”

  Artemisia didn’t know how Garrett kept talking when his mind was working hard to get them out of this mess, scanning the area, testing his bonds with his ferals, sensing where all his informants were.

  And Rosa kept talking. “You won’t get hurt, much. Just enough for me to get away.” She grimaced. “Suppose my days as a Druida guard are over.”

  Artemisia thought her mouth dropped open. She shivered with shocky cold. How would a blazer shot affect Garrett? Herself?

  Garrett rolled his shoulders, ran his left hand along the front of his belt in a gesture that Artemisia had never seen before.

  Get ready. Artemisia, hit the ground. Rusby, stay quiet. Garrett’s calm mental voice seethed with underlying tension and excitement. “You keep using the word executed,” Garrett said aloud with a hint of a sneer.

  “You don’t know anything! My very first case as a guard was Tern Sedum’s murder by the Black Magic Cultists. I found him. He was so young, my age, and his life was stolen. I helped tell his parents that he was dead. I found his poor Fam, near death, Flair sucked from her. Since then I looked for him, watched faces all the time, and I got Eryngo when nobody else did. I did my job when everyone else forgot him. I am the best.” Her lip curled. “That fliggering fligger Eryngo deserved everything he got. He got an easy—”

  Garrett whipped out a huge, scarlet softleaf. Milkweed stopped, stared, fired at the drifting cloth. Garrett shot her.

  Animals yelled battle cries. Artemisia was already lunging up the bank toward the woman. No more blazer sizzles, but the odor of fire and earth; she hit the woman . . . who was screaming and clutching her stomach, which showed the blackness of a blazer singe.

  Blood bloomed on Milkweed’s ear as Rusby yowled, jumping from her falling shoulder to the ground and shaking himself.

  A wave of cats poured around them; scratches appeared on Rosa’s cheeks, her scalp.

  “That’s enough!” Garrett ordered. “Let’s finish this up. Rusby to my shoulder!” He hauled the guardswoman up, tumbling a few cats, and grabbed Artemisia, who was holding Randa, who’d jumped into her arms, and they all teleported away to land on the pad of the main Druida guardhouse.

  Once Rosa was there, she couldn’t stop bragging about how she was better than everyone in recognizing Eryngo and taking care of him. How she was proud that she’d closed the case. Keeping the secret of the execution to herself was good—but not as good as everyone knowing her triumph.

  The vial with dregs of pylor was found in Rosa’s apartment and her partner, Fol Berberis, just shook a sorrowful head, more that she’d been stupid than the fact she’d killed Eryngo.

  And Wi
nterberry followed up on that simple fact that Garrett and he had missed. In the Primary HealingHall cross-folk chapel, T’Blackthorn had stated that he’d seen nothing unusual.

  Straif Blackthorn’s Flair showed him everyone who had been there, and his or her trails. So he would have seen Rosa Milkweed’s traces, seen her marks on the altar. So she’d fallen against it when she and Garrett and Artemisia had entered. She’d ensured her traces and tracks were there for any who had the Flair to see them.

  Winterberry had scowled, scried his cousin-in-law Straif T’Blackthorn, and confirmed Garrett’s deduction.

  Then Laev T’Hawthorn showed up as a representative of the FirstFamilies—curious as always—and called in the best mind Healer, D’Sea. Who had taken one look at Rosa Milkweed and sighed. After a private consultation, D’Sea gave her opinion that she thought that with a long period of counseling, Rosa could be rehabilitated. Meanwhile a Flair tracking device would be inserted in her body, and, of course, she was dismissed from the Druida guards.

  Anonymous donations had already shown up to care for her for the rest of her life.

  The mind Healer firmly advised that Rosa’s trial should be as private as possible. Then lawyers had gotten involved.

  By that time, Garrett, Artemisia, some of his preening ferals, and the full gaze of raccoons had all been interviewed. A lively Danith D’Ash and her wide-eyed teenaged son had helped interpret for the feral Fams.

  To Garrett’s surprise, Sleek Black had taken a liking to Fol Berberis, and the feeling was mutual. Garrett figured that the feral wouldn’t be hanging with his group in the future. And Garrett’s secret about how he got info would soon be revealed. More people would pay attention to the animals around them.

  Artemisia was completely calm, even though it came out that she’d been fired from her position at Primary HealingHall. At that, Garrett and Laev had shared a glance and Garrett had sent a mental sentence to his friend. I will take care of this. Laev had grinned and dipped his head.

  For Garrett, being with Artemisia, even during all the tedious time it took to straighten everything out, was a wonder. She held his hand when they were together. Most often they sat on a wooden bench, waiting for everything to be wrapped up.